Chapter 1
Weekends were always chaos at the Mexican restaurant and bar where I worked.
Even more when there was a Broncos game at Invesco Field right across the street.
By kickoff, the parking lot would already be full—cars packed tight, people spilling out in jerseys and face paint, voices loud, energy higher than it needed to be. Inside, it wasn’t much different. The bar turned into something closer to a downtown club than a restaurant.
Loud. Crowded. Unpredictable.
I was used to it.
I looked good—better than good—and I knew it. The miniskirt uniform didn’t leave much to the imagination, but at 21, I wasn’t exactly trying to hide anything. It came with the job. The looks. The attention.
Most of the time, it was easy to ignore.
Most of the time, it didn’t mean anything.
That night was different.
I was juggling tables, running food, covering the register—moving nonstop just to keep up. Orders blurred together, voices overlapped, and the heat from the kitchen clung to everything.
It should’ve been just another shift.
Until I felt it.
That feeling.
The kind that makes you look up before you even know why.
I didn’t mean to—but I did.
And that’s when I saw her.
She stood out immediately.
Not because she was loud. Not because she was trying to be noticed.
But because she wasn’t.
Mid-thirties, maybe. Blonde hair falling loose around her shoulders, Broncos gear that somehow looked better on her than it did on anyone else in the room. A drink in her hand. Calm.
Too calm for a place like this.
Her eyes were already on me.
Not wandering.
Not casual.
Locked.
I looked away first.
Of course I did.
I told myself it was nothing. Just another customer. Just another person passing through like everyone else.
But the next time I passed her table—
She was still watching me.
And then she smiled.
Not big.
Not friendly.
Just enough to make something in my chest tighten.
I moved faster after that, pretending I didn’t notice. Taking orders, dropping checks, keeping my head down like I always did.
But I felt it every time I got close.
Her attention.
Steady.
Unapologetic.
Unfamiliar.
She complimented me once as I passed—something simple, easy to brush off. Then again a few minutes later. Then again.
Like she wasn’t going to stop.
Like she didn’t care who heard.
The thing was—
I wasn’t even her waitress.
And still…
She watched me like I was the only thing in the room worth paying attention to.
I should’ve ignored it.
I should’ve brushed it off like I always did.
But something about her made that harder than it should’ve been.
Maybe it was the way she didn’t look away.
Or the way she didn’t try too hard.
Or the way she made it feel like she already knew something I didn’t.
I told myself it didn’t matter.
Told myself she was just another customer.
Another face in a crowded room.
But even as I moved through the noise, the lights, the chaos—
I was aware of her.
Every second.
And somehow…
I had the feeling she knew it.
